How Do You Solve A Problem Like Starchiness?
by Anne Oying
Summary: A somewhat short, pointless little thing. Everett has trouble articulating his feelings as Charles waffles on about clouds. Dr. Scott/Criminologist, that's right


**Damn iPod challenge... I haven't been able to get _Both Sides, Now_ out of my head since! Somehow, this was born. Short, pointless and badly written. Enjoy! :)**

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><p>"Everett?"<p>

"Ja?"

Charles took a deep breath and turned his head to peek at the dozing German next to him. How could he look so relaxed? Why were his eyes closed peacefully? Why was his forehead devoid of perspiration? Was he so unaffected by Charles' presence? Charles frowned thoughtfully and wiped his sweaty palms on the grass around him.

He had invited his boyfriend of three years to join him in this picturesque meadow – the only part of Denton left not contaminated by that wretched TV studio, _Demon TV _or whatever they were calling it – for a picnic and a spot of sunbathing, hoping to lure the grumpy old fusspot out of his lab and into some sunlight. Or so he had said.

Charles' hand slid into his breast pocket nervously and he breathed a sigh of relief as his fingers came into contact with a small velvet box.

He looked up to see Everett peering at him curiously under heavy lids and remembered that he had been about to ask his question.

"Everett," he repeated, then deciding he sounded too formal, opted for his pet-name, "Evie."

"Hm?" he came out of his stupor a tad, curious.

This was it. The moment he had been rehearsing for since the day he met Dr. Everett Scott.

"Would you…"

"Yes?"

_Say it, say it, say it, say it, you fool!_

"… care to share your thoughts on the…," _oh now you've done it, you big girl's blouse! What are you going to say now, hm?_

He looked around helplessly, eager for a subject to discuss, "…er… clouds?" he finished weakly.

Everett gave him a mystified look but nevertheless obliged, used to his beau's random musings.

"Vell," he puffed up into his lecture mode, "Clouds are really just vater, you see –"

Charles cut him off, "As much as I enjoy listening to your scientific explantions, Everett, I thought today we could take on a more… poetic approach…?" he didn't mean to make it sound like a question, he really didn't.

Everett looked baffled for a moment, his moustache twitching a bit before sighing endearingly and slipping off his wheelchair to lie down on the grass.

"Well?" Charles asked anxiously after a pregnant pause.

"That vun looks like ein bunny," he supplied helplessly. When it came to matters of science, he excelled without even trying, but poetry? Feelings? Life? _Meine Güte._

Charles chuckled at the bewildered professor and slumped onto the grass next to him, "Rows and flows of angel hair, and ice cream castles in the air, and feather canyons everywhere… I've looked at clouds that way," he said sagely to the enraptured Everett.

"Ooh! Let me try!" he said like an excited child and screwed his face up in concentration, "Um… a-cloud-is-a-visible-mass-of-water-droplets-or-frozen-ice-crystals-suspended-in-the-atmosphere-above-the-surface-of-a-planetary-surface!" he said in a rush, before nervously opening one of his squeezed eyes, "How vas that?"

"Alright…," hedged Charles, "But try to make it a bit less… starchy."

Everett frowned thoughtfully as if trying to comprehend a student's gargled version of his theorem on space travel.

"It's alright," said Charles, concerned about the purple shade the doctor's scrunched face had become, "Obviously clouds aren't your forte… how about… love?" Yes, this was much closer to the target.

Everett's mouth suddenly became very dry. Contrarily, his forehead suddenly became very damp indeed. Love was the very reason that he had agreed to being dragged away from his studies into this allergy-inducing strip of character-less green to sup on soggy sandwiches and little cakes of processed cream. Charles may be a celebrated genius with poetic tendencies, but a master-chef, he ain't. Everett's fingers convulsively twitched towards his breast pocket, although he still could very much feel the corners of the little box digging into his chest through the satin lining of his blazer.

"Let me get you started," said Charles tentatively, glancing at his reflection in Everett's sweaty sheen of a forehead, "Ahem," he said thoughtfully, swirling his tongue around his mouth importantly as Everett gazed at him adoringly, "Junes and moons and ferris wheels, that dizzy dancing way you feel, as ever fairytale comes real… I've looked at love that way," he finished, feeling distinctly more whimsical than he had before starting.

Everett turned scarlet, now how was he going to top that? He was never exactly the most articulate of men – not helped by his thick accent and stereotypical mis-interpretations of the English tongue – but being with the inspiring, thoughtful, lyrical and rhythmical Charles made him feel even more like a stuttering pillock than usual. The little box rubbed against his chest again and he took a deep breath and, in a perfectly coherent and eyebrow-raising authentic English purr, practically sang, "But it's just another show, you leave them laughing when you go, and if you care… don't let it show. Don't give yourself away," he dared to open his eyes and saw Charles beaming, absolute, undisguised delight colouring his face at his love's attempt at soulfulness, "Evie! That was fantastic!" he breathed and gave Everett a sloppy smooch for his troubles.

Everett turned crimson and muttered something like, "Heard it in a song… vunce… thought it suited zee topic…,"

"Still," said Charles, still grinning manically, "It was you that picked it, Evie, that in itself says something and with a few lessons…"

"Nein," Charles had being trying to drag Everett to some sappy poetry class for months. Everett had refused point blank on principal.

Charles grumbled and continued to watch the clouds… there would be plenty more opportunities for a proposal… next to him, Everett thought the same thing as two hands shot into two pockets to surreptitiously stroked two velvet boxes.

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><p><strong>"Poetry" is actually borrowed lyrics from <em>Both Sides, Now <em>by _Joni Mitchell. _I really don't know why I wrote this (maybe I should lay off the lime cordial...) **

**Blame the guys at Google Translator for any awkwardness regarding Evie's German.**

**Oh well, writer's block + schoolwork + regular work + neglected gym membership + social life + Boardwalk Empire coming back on = a distinct lack of plotbunnies to hunt down, hence the lack of updates regarding my other fics. Sorry - please drop the ice-picks, they're slightly unnerving me...**


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